


Inside This Room for Two

by grayola



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x12, Canon Compliant, Crying, Fluff, Gap Filler, Love, M/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayola/pseuds/grayola
Summary: The motel room's hideous, but Ian and Mickey are the happiest they've ever been. 10x12 wedding night gapfiller.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 50
Kudos: 640





	Inside This Room for Two

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for ages. Hope you enjoy! Title taken from ["Lovers Do"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWkM8UHCqWE) by The Brummies.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” Mickey grumbles, mouth twisted up in bewildered amusement as they step into the honeymoon suite of the shitty motel Ian’d booked for the night.

It’s certainly _kitschy_ , if you want to call it that, or _ugly as fuck_ if you have any taste whatsoever. The entire room looks like red and gold Valentine’s Day vomit complete with weird LED artwork, plush velvet, and teddy bear shit, all topped off by the enormous circular bed with the heart-shaped headboard.

Ian presses his lips together into a straight line and drops his bag on the floor. The fact that it had been cheap had been its main appeal, but in all fairness, it did actually look remotely decent on the Internet. The Google reviews hadn’t mentioned bedbugs, come stains, or mold, at least, and for dives such as this, that’s a miracle. 

“The site called it _charming_ ,” Ian says, turning to Mickey, who’s puttering around near the dresser, checking out the complimentary bottles of champagne.

Mickey grabs up one of the bottles and starts to peel at the foil. “Charming my ass,” he says, tossing the detritus to the floor, removing the cage, and twisting at the cork. “Maybe in 1983.”

He pops the cork obnoxiously, sending it flying across the room, and tilts the bottle back for a foamy mouthful. 

“Fuck!” he complains after an inelegant gulp, holding the bottle out to Ian. “Tastes like piss.”

“Says the man who happily drank Enzo’s toilet wine.”

“Tasted better than this shit.”

Ian ambles over to Mickey, steps uneven due to his boot, and takes the bottle. 

“My husband’s so _snobby_ ,” he flirts with a smile, leaning in and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Mickey’s upper lip.

He takes a swig off the champagne when he pulls back, and yeah. Fine. It tastes like piss.

Mickey raises his eyebrows at him, waiting on his reaction, and then breaks into a grin when Ian finishes his swallow with a childish _blech_!

“What _is_ this shit?”

Mickey takes the bottle back and gives it another try. “I think it’s called ‘Desperation.’”

Whatever. They continue to pass it back and forth as they get their shit situated, setting their bags on the little scratched-up table and pulling out their toiletries.

Mickey’d thought maybe wedding nights were supposed to involve clothes-ripping and furious banging on all surfaces. Maybe he was supposed to be blowing Ian against the door right now instead of sipping shit champagne and checking to make sure they’d packed the lube.

He hears a rattle and looks over at Ian, who’s got his pill dispenser and is shaking out his evening dose into his palm. Ian tilts his head in the direction of the bathroom and says, almost shyly, “I gotta…”

Mickey nods at him and watches him go, and he thinks people can shove wedding night rules up their ass because that’s his goddamn husband taking his bipolar meds at the sink, and he’s healthy and beautiful and the two of them have the rest of their fucking lives to consume each other.

\---

Ian swallows his pills with a mouthful of tepid water from the tap and then takes a second to splash water over his face. He rubs his hands over his damp cheeks and feels the drag of the double rings against his skin, and he can’t help but smile at it.

 _Shit_. He’s married. Legally married. He’s got a fucking _husband_ in the other room, digging around in his duffle.

Ian watches through the mirror as Mickey unzips their toiletry pouch, roots around in it for a second, and, apparently satisfied with what he finds, zips it back up and places it on the table. He starts to undo his bowtie then, and Ian takes that as his cue to dry off his face and get back to him.

“Hi,” he says as he maneuvers himself awkwardly into the bedroom, the fucking boot annoying him more and more every second.

Mickey tugs the tie out of his collar and tosses it at him.

And Ian wishes he could take a picture of his face in that moment, Mickey’s eyes so soft and so blue, equal parts teasing and loving. Wholly beautiful.

Ian catches the tie in his hand and, after pulling off his own, sets them together on the table.

\---

Mickey steps over to Ian then and slides his arms up under his jacket, hooking them around the warmth of his back, hands splayed against the waistband of his pants. 

He’s hugging his husband. He has a fucking husband. 

He’s _Ian_ ’s husband.

It feels like a dream--like an impossible thought he’d had when he was alone in prison, alone in Mexico, occupying his mind with things that felt good but that would never happen, never _could_ happen in a million years.

Mickey Milkovich is supposed to be unhappy. He’s supposed to lose anything he ever wanted, all the good things he could ever have, and live out the rest of his days hidden and insignificant, fucking random men and drinking too much and smoking until it eventually kills him.

But as he presses his face against Ian Gallagher’s chest, smelling the fabric of his shirt, the bits of warmth, the sweetness of his skin seeping out the gaps between the buttons, he tightens his arms around his fucking _husband_ and feels like he’s cheated the universe, cheated the gods, slipped just under the wire.

“We’re fuckin’ married, man,” he murmurs, and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes, that puffs out in warm little breaths against Ian’s shirt.

Mickey feels Ian’s body bow, feels lips pressed against the top of his head. 

\---

“You’re my _husband_ ,” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s crown. He takes a moment to inhale him, to revel in the warmth of his scalp, the fading apple scent of his shampoo, the sweetness that can only be, has only ever been Mickey to him. The scent he’s loved since he was fifteen and doing what he could to get close, to breathe the soft, sweaty skin of a dirty-faced boy he loved from the start.

Mickey tilts his head back, and Ian lifts his own to let him, heart thrumming as their eyes meet. 

He scans all over Mickey’s face, over the smile-crinkles and the purpling shiner and the lips he gets to kiss for the rest of his life.

Ian touches their mouths together because he can’t help it--can’t help but join their bodies in some way, can’t help but smoosh their noses together, breathe in, in, the heat of his skin, the faint tang of shitty complimentary champagne.

\---

Ian was Mickey’s first kiss. 

He remembers being just about as scared as he’d ever been in his eighteen years of life, leaning in and pressing his lips to the boy in the van. He remembers the plumes of cigarette smoke around their heads and the buzzing in his ears and the softness of Ian’s lips. 

He remembers taking off toward the house afterward, flipping Ian off with a grin.

Mostly, he remembers wondering why he’d waited so long to do it in the first place. Remembers wanting to do it again and again and again, forever.

He kisses him now, sliding his hands up and down Ian’s clothed back, and he thinks about forever and vows and the rings he can feel on his finger.

 _’Til death do us part_.

Ian’s mouth is cool and wet from the tap water, and Mickey kisses him with everything he has, pouring every ounce of _forever_ into the slow slide of their lips, the gentle touches of their tongues.

He squeezes his eyes shut and feels Ian’s hands come up to touch at his cheeks, his fingers petting at the sides of his hair and over his ears. 

They could do a lot of things on their wedding night. Could fuck wild and hard, could scatter torn buttons on the floor, could be loud enough that the other guests call the front desk to complain.

And they might. There’s time.

But now, all Mickey wants is Ian inside him--wants to be wrapped up in his _husband_ , sharing his heat and his body and his pleasure. He wants it slow. Wants it to last.

He tightens his fingers in the fabric at Ian’s lower back and begins to pull his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants.

\---

Ian smiles against Mickey’s lips as he feels the tug and, wanting to help him along, pulls back and starts to slide off his jacket.

“Guess we should probably consummate our marriage,” he says, then grins when Mickey snorts at him as the two of them wrangle Ian out of his jacket and start to get rid of his shirt.

“Sexy.” Mickey’s tone of voice is wry but happy. “Can’t wait to lose my virginity to you.”

“Glad we saved ourselves for our wedding night. Makes things more special, y’know?”

They giggle as they get naked, stopping every few moments to kiss as they divest themselves of what feels like a thousand articles of clothing.

The whole concept of consummating a marriage is fucking stupid. They’re having fun laughing about it, tossing in little comments about Ian deflowering Mickey’s ass, but their kisses are soft in counterpoint to their jokes and hands are stroking slow and gentle, lingering at waists and shoulders when Mickey whispers, “Let’s do our fuckin’ marital duty.”

“At what point is the marriage officially consummated?” Ian asks, dropping down on the edge of the bed and unstrapping his boot. “When my dick’s in your ass?”

Mickey removes his sock and tosses it at Ian’s head. “Think it’s when you blow your load.”

“Hot.” Ian throws the sock back and grins when it hits Mickey in the face. He tosses away his boot and stands unsteadily, trying his best not to put much weight on his left leg.

Mickey comes over and lets him brace himself on his shoulder as he wiggles out of his pants and underwear, and Ian can’t help but chuckle at the awkwardness of this shit, knowing most newlyweds would probably be fucking already.

But it’s sweeter, sort of, that it’s happening this way. Ian’s husband is helping him get naked, and this is a marriage, not a porno. He feels like he’s wrapped in a blanket, the comfort of their relationship soft and warm, making his heart feel good.

Ian kisses Mickey once he’s kicked away his underwear, getting his arms around his neck, leaning in, and sucking at his bottom lip. 

“This was the best day of my life,” he says in the breaths between kisses, voice a mumble he only knows Mickey understands because of the widening of his mouth against his, a grin breaking across his beautiful face.

“Mine too,” Mickey replies, hands running up and down the plane of Ian’s back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Ian maneuvers himself onto the bed, having to swing his body around and scoot back to lie against the pillows, careful not to agitate his leg, which is technically not supposed to be unbooted for anything other than bathing and sleep.

Mickey grabs the lube from their toiletry bag and follows him on, crawling up to lie next to him.

Full-on intercourse has been an exercise in creativity for the past month, Ian’s injury making it nearly impossible to accomplish certain positions. They can’t do anything too athletic or requiring Ian to brace himself with both legs, so it’s mostly been a lot of riding, a lot of spooning bangs--Ian’s injured leg tossed over Mickey’s thigh--and some awkward standing fucks, Mickey bent over various pieces of furniture while Ian attempts a steady rhythm without putting too much weight on his boot.

Mickey can tell his husband’s not in the mood for either of those things tonight, though. He stretches out on his back and smiles when Ian shuffles over on top of him, holding his injured, socked leg out to the side as much as possible.

“Miss having you like this,” Ian whispers, dipping his head to touch their foreheads together.

His breath’s warm and smells of his last swig of champagne, and Mickey can’t help but push up just an inch, just enough to drag their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss.

He gets his arms around Ian’s neck and slides his hands up into the back of his hair, fluffing it out, gently scratching his nails against his scalp.

Mickey’s never done it this way with anyone else--never had a man on top of him, all his warm, soft, fuzzy bits brushing against his skin, his breath against his lips, nose squished against his cheek. He’s never felt kisses against his eyelids and his forehead as the other man wiggled his hips to get between his, never wrapped his legs around another man’s waist, holding him tight, wanting him closer and closer.

With other men, Mickey thought he would’ve felt caged in and trapped. 

With Ian, he just feels safe.

\---

They should probably be engaging in foreplay, Ian thinks, dragging his forehead against Mickey’s, puckering his lips every few seconds to peck soft kisses on his mouth.

Wedding nights are supposed to be hot sex fests, probably, the couple doing their best to bang the walls down.

But try as he might, all Ian wants to do is snuggle in close to Mickey. Smell him. Hold him. Feel their warm, mingled breaths in the space between their lips.

He leans back a bit, moving his hand up to touch his husband’s face.

Mickey’s eyes are soft, lips are curved gently upward, and Ian slowly brushes his thumb against the bruise beneath his eye and hurts inside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaning back in to peck the mark.

Mickey rolls his eyes at him and shrugs. “Least you didn’t break my leg.”

“The _fall_ broke my leg.”

“Whatever. I shouldn’t’a done it.”

Ian presses another kiss to the bruise and then one to Mickey’s lips. “Yeah, well. Maybe we should just try talkin’ about shit before we throw fists. Make it a fuckin’ marriage goal or something.”

Mickey’s hand scratches through the back of Ian’s hair, soothing. “I don’t like hittin’ ya.”

“I don’t like hittin’ you.”

“Your face is too pretty.”

Ian smirks, glad for the opportunity to lighten the mood. “Oh, is that why?”

Mickey shrugs. “Why else?”

“Mmm.” Ian dips his head and gives Mickey a series of soft, sucking kisses to his neck. “Thought maybe you liked me a little.”

“Eh. Depends on the day.”

Ian straightens and grins down at Mickey’s face, watching a cute smirk spread across his lips. “Oh yeah?” he asks him, bending to kiss the tip of his nose. “How’re we feelin’ today?”

Mickey’s eyes go soft then, and Ian loves him with everything he has.

“Feelin’ like I married you,” Mickey whispers, sliding his arms from around Ian’s neck to up under his pits, clasping them at his upper back. His fingers rub at Ian, tracing love words onto his skin.

“ _Fuck_ , Mickey.” Ian’s belly explodes with butterflies. He feels his cheeks warm and his eyes fill. “We’re married.”

“Signed the papers and everything.”

“We’re like, legally family.”

“Always been family, man.”

Ian blows out a breath at that. He slides his thumbs up and pets at Mickey’s eyebrows, soft, gentle strokes of love. “You’re my husband, Mickey.”

And it feels stupid, but Ian starts to cry a little, eyes brimming with tears and breath beginning to shudder out. His belly shakes.

“Waterworks,” Mickey comments, pulling a hand from Ian's back and reaching up to thumb at a bit of moisture that’s dripped onto his lower lash line. 

But fuck if he doesn’t cry, too, those beautiful blue eyes filling, turning pink and shiny as Ian watches, sniffling and trying to stifle the pressure in his chest, the strange desire to sob.

“I love you,” he says shakily, touching his mouth to Mickey’s eyelids, feeling the lashes wet against his lips.

Mickey pulls his head down, slides his face lower, and plants a soft, sucking kiss to Ian’s upper lip. A kiss that feels like warmth, that feels like safety and trust and home and fucking forever. “Love you, too.”

\---

They’ve had tear-filled sex, have had emotional, _I missed you_ sex in a freezing van, have had _bye for now_ sex on an inch-thick mattress at Beckman Correctional, have had _Jesus Christ, we’re doing this_ sex while Ian was on crutches, their eyes shiny, blood singing, knuckles bruised from punching two men at a fuckin’ hipster concert.

They’ve never actively _cried_ during sex before, Ian sliding in awkwardly, putting all his weight on his right leg and kissing at the tears on his husband’s cheeks.

“This is fuckin’ stupid,” Mickey whispers, embarrassed, swiping across his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Ian thrusts in slow, _so slow_ , and breathes out a shaky sigh, a tear trailing down the bridge of his nose and dripping off with a splash onto Mickey’s forehead.

“It’s emotional ‘cause we saved ourselves for marriage,” Ian jokes wetly, shifting around his hips to find the best angle.

“That why?”

“Yeah.”

They kiss, and it’s the softest thing in the world.

\---

Sometimes, sex is about pleasure, is about getting off as hard as they can as many times as they can, riding each other’s bodies until the sweat streams down their temples.

Sometimes, sex is about comfort, is about giving each other love and safety through warm kisses and gentle thrusts.

And sometimes, sex is about fun, is giggling and tickling and teasing, making each other come first like a challenge, the two of them panting and smiling and taunting each other to the finish line.

Right now, sex is about everything they are, everything they have been, and everything they will ever be. It’s Ian interlocking their fingers and pressing them to the pillows on either side of Mickey’s head. Is hot, tongue-filled kisses that they smile around and whisper around and sob around just a little, just enough to get that pressure out of their throats.

It’s Ian doing his best to thrust as consistently as he can, is Mickey laughing at him when he has to pause to take a break, his one good leg having to do all the leverage work.

“Shut up or I’ll make you ride me.”

“Promise?”

Ian snorts and pulls out, flopping over onto his back with a relaxed sigh. “My good leg’s tired, Mickey, so you’re gonna have to do all the work.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mickey challenges, tossing his leg across Ian’s hips and grasping his dick.

He takes a minute to reapply lube and then slides on with a sweet sigh that makes Ian’s belly churn with love. And when he begins to shift his hips, when he presses his palms to Ian’s chest and rocks, Ian thinks he might come from the sheer amount that he feels for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, feeling a tightening sensation inside him when Mickey smiles, this wonderful, open-mouthed smile that shows his teeth. 

“Not so bad, yourself.”

Ian grins. He gets his hands to Mickey’s hips and helps him move, and for several minutes, there’s nothing but panting and the slick, wet sounds of their lovemaking.

“Think you’re gonna be consummating this marriage soon?” Mickey asks suddenly, breathless, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure.

Ian slides one hand to Mickey’s dick and starts up a series of firm, measured strokes. “Gotta do my marital duty and make my husband come first.”

“That right?”

“Mmhm. Plannin’ on takin’ care of my man.”

“Oh yeah?”

Mickey’s eyes are fully closed now as he rocks harder, and Ian blows out a breath and grips him tightly, sliding his hand up and down his cock in a way meant to do nothing but bring him the most intense pleasure.

“ _Fuck_ , Ian,” Mickey groans, and Ian knows he’s close. Knows because he feels the pulse starting up inside, this flutter around his bare cock that’s driving him absolutely wild with desire.

“Come on, Mickey,” Ian encourages, rubbing his thumb over the messy head of his husband’s dick, digging the fingers of his other hand into his hip in a way that he knows will leave pink marks that’ll turn into faint bruises by morning. “Come on.”

“ _God_ , I’m gonna come. Fuck.”

“Do it, do it.” 

With all the strength he has, Ian slides his arm around Mickey’s waist and sits up, pulling him tightly to his chest and doing what he can to thrust up into him as Mickey squeezes his eyes shut and groans, knees pressed to the mattress and used as leverage to bounce on Ian’s cock.

“Love you so much,” Ian murmurs, burying his face in Mickey’s damp, sweaty neck, scooping both arms beneath him and helping Mickey move up and down. “ _Fuck_ , I love you.”

Mickey loses it at that, his bounces faltering, turning back to a rocking motion as he gets his own hand on his cock and strokes himself faster and faster. “ _God_ , I love you. I’m coming.”

“Yeah, yeah, do it.” Ian groans and shakes and drops backward into the pillows when he feels the rhythmic contractions squeezing around his dick. “Fuck, fuck.”

Mickey coming is the absolute hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life--always is, no matter how it happens--and Ian’s helpless to stop his own orgasm from rushing up to meet him. Helpless to stop the fire surging through him, the squeeze in his gut, the unbearable, incredible pleasure sizzling through him and manifesting as several hard pulses inside his husband.

 _Fuck_ , his husband.

\---

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Mickey’s groaning, riding Ian’s cock around the hard edge of his orgasm. He feels Ian’s warm release inside of him, feels it start to drip out as he rolls his hips a final few times, bringing them both to a state of absolute marital fucking bliss.

As he slows, he blows out a breath and watches Ian open his eyes and lick at his bottom lip, his own breath coming in heavy, audible pants. “Holy shit, Mickey.”

“Holy fuckin’ shit.”

Mickey climbs off him and flops over onto his back, not caring one bit that he’s getting the bed messy and wet. He closes his eyes for a second, catching his breath, and smiles when he feels Ian’s lips press affectionately to his cheek.

\---

“Mwah,” Ian kisses, sliding his arms around Mickey’s middle and pulling him close. “That was perfect.”

Mickey chuckles breathily and turns his head to land a kiss on Ian’s brow. “Minus the first five minutes, that was _hot_.”

“I dunno. I thought the crying was kinda hot.”

Mickey gives him a light smack on the arm.

Ian laughs and runs a hand up and down Mickey’s sweaty back, feeling the knobs of his spine, the hard muscle, the warm bits and soft bits, all the parts that make up the man he loves. “Marriage consummated, I guess.”

“Mm.” Mickey closes his eyes, relaxing into Ian’s strokes. “If we need proof, it’s gonna be on the sheet in about thirty seconds.”

“Hot.”

“I think so.”

Ian snuffles into his husband’s neck and pecks him gently. 

“Are you happy?” he asks seriously after several silent moments, the two of them settling into their warm cocoon of calm and safety.

“What do you think?” Mickey replies, opening his eyes and sliding a hand up to rub against Ian’s cheek.

Ian feels the rings, and he can’t help but turn his head to kiss Mickey’s palm.

“I dunno,” he whispers afterward, shrugging.

Mickey breathes an amused little puff out his nose, lips upturning in the kind of smile that Ian will love until he’s ninety. Will love until the day he dies. Will love even after that. Death ain’t partin’ shit.

“Never been happier,” Mickey finally murmurs, thumb sliding down to stroke at the corner of Ian’s mouth. To stroke at the smile that splits his face when he hears his words.

Ian nods his head and taps his fingers against Mickey’s spine. “I wanna be a good husband,” he muses, leaning in to bump their noses.

Mickey puckers his lips and presses a chaste, barely-there peck to his husband’s soft mouth, to the first lips he ever kissed seven unbelievably long years ago. And he considers turning it into a joke, saying something about the come running out of him and how he’s done a pretty good job so far. He considers being self-deprecating, pulling in his own fears about how he’ll be as a partner for life, as the half to a new, two-person family.

But what he goes with, if only because it’s true, and if only because he loves Ian Gallagher more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything in his entire life, is, “Me too.”

That’s a good enough place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> _Let's watch emerald trees dance in the breeze  
>  As we lay on soft pillows and swim in the sheets  
> With you there's nothing that I'd rather do  
> Than lay here inside this room for two  
> And do what lovers do_
> 
> _Now I'm sinking in deep a sea of green eyes  
>  Feel your lips on my cheek and taste the red wine  
> On you there's nothing that I'd rather do  
> Than lay here inside this room for two  
> And do what lovers do_  
> -["Lovers Do"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWkM8UHCqWE) by The Brummies
> 
> They're going to live happily ever after. 💕
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
